I had a really crappy Thanksgiving this year. It's my fault - I'm feeling depressed and edgy, and I hate it. I don't get depressed too often, but when it comes, I know all I need to do is go for a long run to help pull myself out of it.
But you know what? I can't run. And that sucks.
It reminds me of when I was pregnant. I had so much fear and anxiety with my pregnancy, and I heard from my perinatologist every week how slim the chances were of my kids surviving and thriving after I went on bedrest at 22 weeks... and I just needed to escape. To get away to deal with it.
And I couldn't. I couldn't run, I couldn't exercise. Or drink, or smoke. I couldn't even have sex. Honestly - all of my coping mechanisms were tapped out, and it was a really difficult and humbling time in my life.
This not running thing is very reminiscent of those months - it makes me realize how very, very dependent I am on running for my mental health. Not only for that endorphin "fix", but for the sense of accomplishment, the competition, that raw burn that you have when you've expended everything you have.
The pregnancy and the broken femur stuff has made me more well-rounded. I have other ways of coping now. I've started swimming, and doing yoga, and I really enjoy it.
And - since I'm not pregnant, I can have a drink. And so today when my kids went to bed, I poured myself a fancy drink. Cake flavored vodka and pineapple juice. And I'll be damned if it doesn't taste just like a pineapple upside down cake.
|Get in my bellyyyy...|
|My two little monsters.|